


Together

by masi



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: Corteo tries to be a good brother to Angelo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling sad about Corteo ever since I watched episode 10, so I thought I would write this story. 
> 
> Most of the dialogue is directly from the anime. This fic is basically a reflection on the events that happen in the canon, but I also added a couple of wish-fulfillment moments.

Corteo is almost certain, when he thinks about his past and his general powerlessness, that he won’t be able to save Angelo. He could do nothing for Mrs. Lagusa, who was a second mother to him, and kind Mr. Lagusa, and little Luce, all taken from him in one night. He tried his best for his mother, who was bedridden for years, and still none of it was enough, the various doctors and medicines and fervent hopes and well wishes. Now he is losing his friend, his brother, Angelo.

“Avilio Bruno. That’s what I go by now,” Angelo said, in their first meeting after seven long years. His gaze, cold and unfamiliar. Indifference in his changed voice. 

“There’s no one holding you down, then,” he said, after hearing about Corteo’s mother. 

And. “Please, Corteo,” he said. “A raison d’être gives a person power. Friendship is a more reliable tool than a knife.” Something sharp in the twist of his lips when he smiled. “We’re brothers, right?”

When did family become something that holds you down? What does it mean to be a friend? A brother? “Starting now, you and I are brothers,” a younger Corteo promised, earnest, full of sorrow and a yearning to do right, “and we will always be.” But such symbolic words (brother, family, friend) have been altered, both in his books and in the dangerous place he now lives in, emptied out, distorted, filled with a multiplicity of meanings he does not understand. He helps Avilio on his vengeful quest, he makes so much moonshine his clothes and hat and fingers have a permanent stench to them, he watches Avilio with Nero Vanetti, joking with each other, smiling, laughing, and he does not understand.

When it has all become too much for him, and it seems that Nero is going to be killed with or without Avilio lifting a finger, Corteo tries to persuade Avilio to leave with him. “Isn’t your life worth more than some revenge?!” he asks, begs almost.

“You’ve got it backwards, Corteo,” Avilio says. “If I abandon my revenge, I lose my reason for living.”

Avilio would not be out of place in _The Waste Land_ , another person lost among the ruins. Devastated by tragedy one April night, bereft, stumbling over a cruel, changed landscape. Corteo can almost hear the opening lines of the poem in his head:

“April is the cruellest month, breeding  
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  
Memory and desire, stirring  
Dull roots with spring rain.”

And when Avilio finally does mention leaving, as they are heading towards the pier, it is only a joke. 

“Let’s cross it,” he says, his tone light. “The river of lamentation to the underworld.” 

Corteo hesitates. Here it is again, another chance to say no. This time he must be firm.

One of the Vanetti family goons arrives, brandishing a gun. For one wild moment, Corteo considers turning on Avilio, pretending that he has nothing to do with Avilio’s plans.

Then he climbs into the boat and lets Avilio row them farther down the river of lamentation.

***

For the past seven years, Corteo has lit a candle on Angelo’s birthday and then snuffed it out with his fingers. He remembers, each time, that cold, terrible April night, which had started so innocuously, happily almost. He was visiting the Lagusa house, which was always warm and cheery, filled with a palpable love. There was cake, which Corteo had helped Mrs. Lagusa bake, as a present for Angelo. “He likes everything you make the best,” she said, laughing.

Afterwards, he sat with Angelo and Luce in the large dining room. Luce was curious about the candles, and Corteo started explaining, with such confidence, that it wasn’t the wick that burns but rather, the paraffin. When Luce asked him to put it out, however, he realized that he couldn’t because he was afraid. Angelo, so different then, laughed abruptly, and then sat smiling as he watched them. Then, Angelo put out the candle for him, saving him from embarrassment.

The trick is to do it quickly. In and out before the anxiety and fear creep in. “Be safe, Angelo,” Corteo says, afterwards.

***

Barbero taught him about the concept of omertà early on, while inspecting the first batch of Lawless Heaven. About other codes too, important to the mafia, such as swift vengeance and loyalty to the famiglia. “The family comes first,” Barbero says. “You answer to your new family, the Vanettis, now. To Nero. Whatever former loyalties you had, you must aside.”

Corteo has enough money now to go to college. He can give the Vanettis his recipe for Lawless Heaven, or teach someone how to make it if they demand that in exchange for his freedom, and then leave this place behind. All of it. The mafia, his past as a bootlegger. Avilio, who seems to have lost sight of his goals, is in too deep. He can’t be saved anymore, not by someone as ineffectual and timid as himself.

He can study practical concepts that he will use for a good cause. Major in architecture, maybe. Learn how to build a bridge, for example, or construct a comfortable house. Examine how the individual pieces fit together to create a harmonious whole. There is nothing harmonious about the mafia, despite their insistence on love and family. 

As he walks into Fango’s domain, he thinks about Avilio. The dismissive look on Avilio’s face as he tossed a wad of cash onto the bed for him, like money could be a solution to both their problems. “Stay out of my life from now on,” Avilio said.

After Fango, Corteo’s last hope for protection, tries to reveal his secret to Nero (and thereby put both him and Avilio in danger), and he has smashed Fango’s head in, Corteo looks at his trembling, bloodstained hands through his blood-smeared glasses and knows that it is all over for him. He wasn’t able to put his former loyalties aside. And because of that, ironically, he has become one of them.

***

Avilio smiles and says, “It looks good on you.”

Corteo takes off his hat. He walks closer to Avilio, anxiety lifting off of his shoulders and dissipating. He can’t remember the last time Avilio smiled so openly, with such affection. He stands next to Avilio on the deck of the ship. The wind tugs at his hair, now brushed out, long and wavy. Avilio does not have a word of reproach about the fiasco with Fango. He does not talk about betrayal or loyalty or how he is now under more suspicion because of what Corteo has done. It feels like a beginning.

They could make this work, Corteo thinks later, as he and Avilio lie so near each other in Avilio’s bare room. He can hear Avilio breathing softly. He falls asleep to that gentle sound.

And wakes up to sunlight and the sound of water running into a sink. Avilio is in the narrow kitchen, making coffee. The morning light softens his edges, makes the curve of his smile almost tender. When he joins Corteo in the bedroom and hands him the one mug he owns, his fingers brush over Corteo’s, warm and somehow both familiar and not.

They spend the day together, like they are two ordinary young men whose lives have not been touched by the mafia. Corteo buys blankets and new dishes and utensils. They go to a food mart. Avilio hangs back and watches while Corteo picks out the freshest vegetables and fruits he can find. They debate on which kind of bread to buy. 

In the late afternoon, they return to their apartment. Corteo cooks dinner, and Avilio eats up an entire plateful with relish. Is this a dream, Corteo wonders. He has not eaten yet, but he is full and content just by watching Avilio.

He could live like this forever, truly. He will find a place nearby and try his best to be accepted into the University of Chicago. Avilio will find a way out of the mess he is in and then come back to him. They will live as brothers.

Or, maybe, Corteo thinks later, as Avilio makes up the bed for him, maybe not brothers exactly, but a family in a different way. 

Avilio’s arm brushes against his as he fluffs up a pillow. There is something soft and hesitant in Avilio’s gaze when they turn to look at each other. Corteo is certain that real brothers don’t look at each other like this. 

Corteo flushes, and when his body starts to heat up all over, Avilio reaches out and touches his cheek with the tips of his fingers. He touches Corteo’s hair too, smiling a bit, almost shy. He rests his palm against Corteo’s cheek, briefly, before he slides his hand down and over Corteo’s jaw and then to the nape. He leans in, his eyes closing.

A train whistles, long and loud, in the distance. And Avilio hesitates. He looks at the bottle of Lawless Heaven on the windowsill and draws back. He tucks his fingers into his palm.

To break the silence in the room, Corteo murmurs, “Good night, Avi-. Angelo.”

“Yes,” Angelo says. He looks back at Corteo, his face solemn. There is an apology in his gaze.

Corteo will remember Angelo this way, always, the quiet affection, the bright eyes, the love he couldn’t express in words but showed in that brief time they had together. 

***

Before going into the Vanettis’ mansion, Corteo smokes one last cigarette to calm his nerves. There is no turning back, and he needs to be as composed as Avilio almost always is. He is going to try to save Avilio ( _Angelo_ , he reminds himself) one last time, but not in the way he wanted. In a more literal sense, that is, save him from being suspected as a traitor, tortured, and killed.

He promised Angelo that he would be his brother, and although he does not know the exact meaning of the word anymore, he knows that it means they are in this together. Forever. So. He can’t leave his brother to die. 

And Angelo has rescued him so many times. When Cerotto’s brother was destroying his homemade moonshine. When Fango thought he was Nero and was trying to kill him. When Ganzo Vanetti was holding him captive. “Let me have Corteo,” Angelo said. “Once he’s safe, I’ll come back.” 

Before Angelo left Chicago, he said, with a quiet determination, “I’ll be back.” Like he was setting a goal for himself, like he was making a promise to both himself and Corteo.

Corteo stamps out his cigarette and squares his shoulders. 

And when he barges into Nero’s office and sees the look on Angelo’s face, any lingering doubts he may have had vanishes completely.

“Why did you come back?” Angelo asks, later, when it is just the two of them again. He sounds unsure, unlike himself. He is holding the gun to his side.

Corteo remembers, quite suddenly, the last line of _The Waste Land_. “Shantih shantih shantih.” The translation for the Sanskrit word is, “The Peace which passeth understanding.” Scholars say that this is not an entirely accurate translation. The meaning of the last line is ambiguous. While some offer an optimistic viewpoint, others argue that the verse indicates the speaker’s resignation to the ways of the changed, modern society, and that it is this resignation that causes a certain peace. 

There is no resignation on Angelo’s face.

But Corteo is oddly at peace now. He reminisces, fondly. He says to Angelo, “But I’m glad I got to see you again.”

He wonders where Angelo will shoot him. The head or the heart? He hopes he will meet Angelo again in another place, a gentler place, where they will love each other more, where they will have more time together. He raises his hand and starts to make that familiar gesture, their gesture.

Angelo points the gun at Corteo’s head. Then he moves it to the heart.

In the end, it hurts much less than Corteo thought it would, and as he is passing (to a place where he can be reunited with his mother and Luce and Angelo’s parents, he hopes and doubts … to any place except where he will be punished or where it will be cold and lonely, please, please) he is almost certain that Angelo says, “I’ll see you soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
